


XVII

by Crowgirl



Series: Welcoming Silences [19]
Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Canon Related, Difficult Communication, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, Time Passes, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul can tell when Foyle comes out of the farmhouse that something is off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	XVII

Paul can tell when Foyle comes out of the farmhouse that something is off. Foyle isn’t walking firmly as he usually does; instead, his shoulders are subtly sagging, his hands deep in his coat pockets. He’s looking down as he walks -- a reasonable precaution in a snowy farmyard, certainly but, as he gets closer to the car, Paul can see him chewing hard on the corner of his lower lip and he’s walking slower and slower.

Paul had offered to take the news himself or to go in with Foyle; Sam had offered, too, and Paul thinks Foyle would’ve done well to take her. There’s something about Sam that brings light, braces people up, and he thinks that Mr. and Mrs. Hanford could probably have used both.

Foyle had said no. In the absence of any military officer who cared enough to bring the official telegram and condolences, he would do it. It was ridiculous, he said, to let the news of the last Hanford boy’s death come by messenger, as if it were news of an ailing friend or a new baby in the family. 

Paul didn’t know the Hanfords, but Foyle did. Apparently Andrew and the three boys had been friends. It was Andrew who had heard of the death of Bert Hanford in France and somehow gotten in touch with his father before the message could drop on the mat in Hastings. 

And so there’s no real reason for Paul to be here -- no real reason for Sam to be here either if the truth be told. The Hanford farm is a brisk twenty-minute walk from the edge of town and, despite the snow two days before, the day is fine: cold and bright, perfect December weather. Now, in the late afternoon with the sun slanting low across the snowy fields and hedges, giving everything a blue shadow, it’s quite picturesque. But Sam had brought the car around and Paul had walked out of the station with Foyle without asking.

He gets out of the car before Sam can and hears her start the engine, the headlights a sudden bright illumination of the snowy road to his left. ‘Sir?’ It’s half a question, half not, and Foyle says nothing, just looking up and nodding as Paul pulls the back door open for him.

**Author's Note:**

> And a multitude of thanks to my beta readers [elizajane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane) and [Kivrin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kivrin).


End file.
